Reckless Surrender

by R. C. Martin

  “So glad you could make it. I know coming out this way is a bit of a drive, and you’re probably so busy with studying for finals, but I thought it would be fun to make a whole night of it.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Thank you for inviting me.”

  Did I mention that I love this girl?

  “Mom, dad—this is Kathryn,” I speak as soon as I have the chance. “Kathryn, my parents: Cornelius and Elizabeth.”

  “Please, call me Neal,” my father insists, taking Katie’s hand between both of his in a gentle shake.

  “And feel free to call me Beth,” says my mother.

  “Then, I suppose, you should call me Katie,” she replies with a self-conscious laugh.

  I reach over and place my hand on the small of her back, hoping the gesture will remind her she can relax. It isn’t until we each take our seats that I remember our party is one short.

  “Where’s Daph?”

  “Your sister procrastinated on a French assignment,” my mother begins to say as she smooths her dinner napkin across her lap. “Her poor choices have consequences and, unfortunately, she will not be joining us this evening.”

  I’m far too disappointed to mask my scoff. I shouldn’t be surprised but I am. Not with Daphne, she’s always been a procrastinator when it comes to her school work. She believes that she works best under pressure. I can’t argue with her logic because her straight A report card is hard to dispute. But she knows Neal and Beth. I wish she hadn’t chosen this weekend to push her limits—or rather, their limits. However, I’m not really disappointed in her as much as I am in our parents. They know how important this night is. I can’t believe they would exclude her.

  “Mom, don’t you think that’s a little harsh? It’s one night. She’s got all of tomorrow to work on whatever project she hasn’t finished.”

  “Now, Roman, you know that Sundays in our household are busy all on their own,” says my father.

  I will myself not to roll my eyes. Every Sunday has looked the same for as long as I can remember. We get up, we go to church, we have family dinner, and then dad turns on some sporting event while my mom curls up nearby with a book. Daphne and I usually choose each other’s company over theirs for the remainder of the afternoon. Whatever it was we decided we wanted to do, we had plenty of time to do it; just as I’m sure she’d have plenty of time to finish her homework tomorrow if she was out with us tonight.

  Before I have the chance to put up a fight, my mom changes the subject. Being the master of diversion that she is, it isn’t long before she’s led us to discuss half of the menu, how Katie and I are doing with our class load this semester, how Katie likes Boulder in comparison to Houston, and how she and I met through our on-campus bible study. Katie seems to have settled in nicely with my parents and I can tell that most of her nerves are now gone, but I can’t stop thinking about Daphne. She should be here for this. Not that she doesn’t know everything there is to know about Katie already.

  Daphne and I talk about almost everything. I might be her senior by three years, but she has trained me well in the art of open and honest conversation. She’s never accepted anything less. She expects me to listen completely and share abundantly. Like our mother, she likes to talk. Unlike my mother, all topics of conversation are welcomed and encouraged. Especially the difficult ones. She asks the tough or uncomfortable questions and she sacrifices her pride or shame as she opens herself up to be vulnerable in turn. She’s a curious kid. And brilliant. It’s part of the reason why I love her so much. She’s unapologetically herself. In our household, that’s quite a feat.

  My father insists on ordering dessert before we head to the theatre. Never being one who cared for sweets, I decline and surrender my menu to Katie. When she orders the gelato without a second thought, I can no longer handle Daphne’s absence. Gelato is her favorite dessert. Knowing that she and Katie have that in common makes me even more frustrated with my parents for excluding her from this chance to meet my girlfriend.

  Their reasoning behind their decision is so bogus.

  I think about texting her to see what she’s up to, but I know there’s no way I can get away with having my phone out at the table. My parents would go nuts. Instead, I excuse myself, complaining of a full bladder. I give Katie’s hand a squeeze and then I head back to the foyer to make my call.

  “Good Lord! It took you long enough,” she answers after the first ring.

  “Hello to you, too,” I reply with a laugh.

  “We don’t have time for pleasantries. Operation Smash-the-Nut is about to go down. I’ve just been waiting for you to call and tell me what’s up.”

  I shake my head, despite the fact that she can’t see me do it, and try to make sense of what she’s just said. I come up short. “What are you talking about?”

  “Little miss gorgeous-as-an-angel is going out of town next week! It’s so not fair that mom and dad get to meet her and I don’t. It’s not like their opinion even matters. They don’t know you half as well as I do. If anyone is going to tell you if she’s worthy of your sacrificed manhood, it’s going to be me.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—my sacrificed manhood?”

  “Daph,” she begins to say, her voice altered in a failed attempt to mimic mine. “She makes my heart sing. I think I’ve found my muse.”

  “I did not say that,” I chuckle, unable to hold back my amusement.

  “You so did. Whatever. We don’t have time to argue. I found the extra ticket to tonight’s show. Mom left it on her desk.”

  “Oooh,” I hum, operation Smash-the-Nut suddenly making sense. “So, what, you’re just going to show up?”

  “I’ve been dressed for the past hour. I was waiting for you to call so I could run the idea by you. I had to make sure you’d back me up when I crashed the party.”

  I take a second to consider before I answer her. It’s not that I wouldn’t have her back, I just know that one of us has to take into consideration the possible consequences that might occur if she goes through with this plan. She just turned sixteen a couple weeks ago. She has a license and a car—a gift from our parents—but it’s dark and it’s cold. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with her driving around downtown Denver by herself.

  “I knew I should have just jumped to the point as soon as I answered the phone. I’ve given you the chance to go into over-protective-brother mode. Come on, Corny! It’s a twenty minute drive, tops! I’ll be fine.”

  I shake my head, annoyed that she thinks using that nickname will work in her favor. She’s always been tickled by the fact that my middle name was inherited from our father. Her argument is that her status as my sibling somehow gives her the right to dub me with the name she’s never been allowed to call dear ole dad.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve driven with mom to dad’s office? I know downtown…”

  She keeps talking, advocating her driving abilities. I’m pulled away from the conversation when a pair of arms circle around my waist. I turn in Katie’s embrace and smile at her before pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She grins at me before she mouths, “Busted.” I chuckle as I tangle my fingers in her curls and cup my hand around the back of her neck before kissing her once more. She leans into me and encourages my affection. For a moment, I completely forget that I’m on the phone until Daphne starts yelling at me.

  “Roman! Hello!” She gasps. “Ew—are you kissing while I’m trying to talk to you? Ugh. I’m hanging up.”

  “No, wait,” I insist, pulling away from Katie.

  “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  “Daphne, listen to me. You drive straight there. When you arrive, call me. Tell me where you are and we’ll come meet you and walk to the theatre together.”

  “I will!” she squeals with excitement. “Love you, bye.”

  “Love you, too. Be careful.” I barely manage to get the words out before we’re disconnected.

  “I knew you didn’t have to pee. Your water has only been re
filled once. What was that about?” asks Katie as soon as I pull the phone away from my ear.

  “Daphne’s going to bail on her French homework and come to the ballet.”

  Worry pulls at her eyebrows before she speaks. “Isn’t she going to get in trouble for that? From what I’ve gathered, your parents are pretty strict.”

  “She really wants to meet you. I want her to meet you. Besides, she won’t get in trouble until they all head back home. My mother hates to make a scene.”

  “Roman—”

  “I love you,” I whisper, holding her tighter against me. “She’ll jump on a plane and fly out to see you knowing that I do. Why don’t we just save her the trip?”

  Katie gapes at me for a second as her baby-blues stare at me in wonder. “You—you—?”

  “I love you, yes.”

  A slow grin lights up her face as she reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck. She tilts her head and positions her mouth a mere breath away from mine before she whispers, “I love you, too.”

  April 2011

  I know that I’m beautiful. Not like a lot of other girls think that they’re beautiful. It’s not a matter of me being comfortable in my own skin and it has nothing to do with who I am on the inside. I’m. Just. Beautiful. It’s the way I’m built. I was born pretty. Not that anyone would have a leg to stand on if they tried to deny it, but I have proof. Or I should say, my mother has proof, stored away in the Logan Trophy Case which she still displays proudly back home. I was winning beauty pageants as early as six months old.

  I’m also intelligent. Most people probably wouldn’t assume as much at first glance—my platinum blonde hair and my obsession with high heeled shoes tossing me into a gross stereotype. To an ignorant on-looker, I’m one of those attractive women who cares more about where my sexy legs might get me as opposed to my brains. Let there be no mistake—I am as smart as I am beautiful. With the added bonus of sexy legs. My inability to decide on a course of study should not count against that truth. I can be indecisive.

  I said I was smart and beautiful. I never said anything about having everything all figured out.

  Colorado State wasn’t the only school that wanted me. In fact, I was accepted into every university that I applied to; but choosing CSU wasn’t hard. I wanted to get out of California. Since Colorado is almost like a second home—as my family owns a house in Steamboat Springs we’ve always visited at least twice a year—CSU became my top choice. Dad was so proud. He did his undergrad here. Though, I learned a long time ago that he’s not someone I aspire to be. I don’t want to be like either of my parents, really.

  Ha. How ironic. I thought I could be better. Maybe not.

  I can’t deny the fact that my parents love me. They do—so very much. I love them, too. Not just because they spoil me rotten—which they do—but when your dad is a big time partner at a law firm in Los Angeles and your mom is a freelance fashion photographer in a city of starlets, it comes with the territory. Don’t get me wrong. Besides all the things money can buy, my parents would do anything for me. Anything. Including staying together in a loveless marriage so as not to break up our little family.

  Perhaps loveless is too strong a word. I know that they love each other—they just aren’t in love with each other. Not anymore. But who could blame them? My mom seemed to have lost herself in raising me and snapping photos while my dad buried himself in work. Oh, and every secretary he’s ever hired under the age of twenty-five. That lasted for about five years…right after grandma passed away.

  My mother blames his grief and herself for my father’s wandering eye, claiming she didn’t offer him enough attention. I call bullshit on that one. Nevertheless, when she started making more of an effort, my dad hired Gail—his fifty-year-old secretary. I must say, I love that woman. Not just because she’s helped my dad keep his dick in his pants since I was sixteen, either.

  Of course, I would learn to deal if my parents ever did decide to divorce each other. However, despite their dysfunctional marriage, they are the closest of friends. Sounds crazy, but it’s true. I doubt they’ll ever split. After twenty-five years, I bet losing each other would be like losing an arm or a liver or something. What they have works for them.

  I, for one, want more.

  I want romance and love and devotion. I want happily-ever-after. I want better than fine. I want exceptional. When I met Mack at the beginning of last semester, I thought that was what I had found. He was tall, dark, and handsome with the most gorgeous gray eyes. He turned my insides into butter before he even spoke a single word to me. I fell for him hard and fast. I would have bet my life that he felt the same way. Turns out I was delusional. Worse, even—I gave my heart away to a philanderer who didn’t love me at all. I’m pretty sure that makes me more disappointing than my mother.

  Yup. I picked a guy who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. We broke up over two months ago. Since then, I’ve picked up the pieces of my heart and decided that maybe the hunt for love just isn’t worth it. If the reality of life is that I might fall in love only to one day end up in a platonic marriage, then my hopes are way too high. If the dream of sweet love and devotion is just that—a dream—why should I put myself through all the heartache that comes with relationships? Maybe guys aren’t built to settle down. Maybe I’d be better off playing the field like they do. Maybe I’d be happier if I just accepted that.

  Anyway, I’m totally over it. Over him, I mean.

  At least—I thought I was.

  An hour ago, the only things I was worried about were whether or not I should order a vanilla latte or a caramel macchiato, and if I wanted to change my major to business instead of communication.

  I know. Two weeks before finals is a hell-of-a-time to make such decisions but, like I said, I’m indecisive.

  Now—now I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of campus with the skank who stole my boyfriend. Except, I’m no longer sold on the idea that she’s a skank—which is a real shame. If she’s not, that means Mack is more of a douche than I thought he was.

  “So, let me get this straight. When I found you making out with my boyfriend at that back to school party, that was your first time being drunk? Ever?”

  “Why is that so remarkable? I’m only eighteen,” she argues.

  Her defensiveness is more spunky than irritating and most definitely unapologetic. It makes me like her in spite of everything that’s working against her. Damn.

  “And you didn’t remember what happened the next day?”

  “I didn’t remember until I ran into him on my way to class a week later and he reminded me.” She shakes her head as if she’s just as mortified now as I imagine she was then. “I know it means nothing at this point, but I’m sorry. I had no idea you existed.”

  My heart stings at the thought of Mack hitting on this girl while pretending he wasn’t in love with me. Or, I guess, he was pretending with me when he told me that he was.

  “Then the sex a month later?”

  I remember walking in on them. It was a week after Valentine’s Day. A week before our six month anniversary. There was a party at the frat house, where he lived, and I told him I couldn’t come until later. I had to study. He told me not to worry about it. He promised he’d stop by my place after.

  “Please. I already told you what happened. Could you try him again?”

  I hit redial and hold my phone to my ear, staring at her as I listen to ring after ring after ring after—“Hey, you’ve reached—”

  “Asshole,” I mutter, disconnecting from his voicemail for the seventh time.

  Her shoulders slump in defeat and I think we both know he’s going to continue to ignore me. I don’t know why she thought he’d want to talk to me, seeing as how he’s shown no interest in picking up for her. He’s probably blocked both of our numbers by now. Then again, I can’t blame her for tracking me down and asking me to try. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Look, I know you already told me, bu
t I need to hear it again. It’s a lot to wrap my head around,” I murmur, hoping she’ll trust me for just a few more minutes. I want to commit every detail of her story to memory. Maybe it’ll help me get angry enough to squash my feelings for Mack, which have resurfaced unexpectedly with her presence.

  “It’s a lot for you to wrap your head around?” she scoffs. “No shit!”

  For some reason, the curse word on her lips doesn’t seem natural. I don’t know this girl, but she doesn’t seem the swearing type. Maybe I would have thought so an hour ago—when I was sure she was a skank—but now? A lot can change in an hour. A lot can change with the truth.

  She looks smaller now, here, in front of me; more frail than my memory of her—which is a not-so-quaint image of her naked and hidden beneath the shroud of our shared douche bag lover.

  She’s nothing like me. In fact, I don’t understand what drew him to her in the first place. She’s about my height, maybe a little shorter, five-six or five-five, but she can’t boast of a single curve. Sure, it’s probably better if she wears a bra, but if she didn’t feel like it and she wore the right shirt, she could totally get away without it. Her hair is a pretty color—dark brown, like the mahogany grand piano back home. It has a nice naturally wavy texture, but she treats it like shit. It hangs almost lifeless down her back.

  Then again, looking into her matching brown eyes, I see a storm of emotions I hope I never understand. Maybe her lack of general effort in regards to her outward appearance is just a byproduct of her current situation.

  She takes a deep breath and rakes her fingers through her hair before she begins retelling the story I’m so desperate to rehear. I sigh in relief, my compassion for her growing as she offers up a little more of herself. “We’d been hanging out a lot since he spotted me on campus. Obviously, it was an embarrassing situation, but he was sweet about it. He said he owed me coffee. I declined. He persisted. Those gray eyes won.”

  She’s not talking to me anymore, I can tell by her glazed over expression. She’s reliving it; maybe trying to make sense of it all. I want to interrupt her, tell her I understand the power he wields with those eyes, but I don’t. My silence is just as much for me as it is for her. I hate that we shared him. I hate that he had us both fooled.